Apologies
by justanoutlaw
Summary: August has been through a lot in all of his years, but the one thing he desperately wants is for his father to just understand.


**I wouldn't call this fic necessarily anti-Marco, but I feel that this is how he feels over the whole situation. There's no happy ending here, just a lot of reality. Mentions of past child abuse and current PTSD take place here.**

_But he says it's crazy how love stays with me, yeah_

_You know and it hurts me 'cause I don't wanna fight this war_

_And it's amazing to see me reading through this scene of love and fear_

_And apologies, apologies-Grace Potter_

August sat in the back of Granny's, stirring the milk into his coffee as he did his best to hide from everyone else. If he had one more person ask how he was holding up since being turned back into a man, he was going to lose it. It was weird, really weird. He could remember the past year of being a boy, all of the fun he had with his papa, though he had no clue of the old life he had lived. To be honest, he was glad to be back to the person he was before. Maybe that man was broken, but he was his own person, raw and real. All of the pain in his life had made him into the man he was. Maybe that wasn't the best person in the world and he did have regrets (sending Emma to jail, lying to Rumpelstiltskin about being Baelfire), but all of that made him August Wayne Booth and not Pinocchio. He didn't want to be Pinocchio anymore.

His father was less than okay with it and he could understand why. After the curse broke, he got his second chance at raising his son, at being there for him. Yet, there was a part of August who felt that Marco didn't deserve that. He loved his father, so much. He just didn't think it was fair that he had gotten a second chance after all of his deception, while Emma and her parents had to struggle to build a normal parent/child relationship. Why did he get his shot at having a happy, normal childhood, when Emma never would? He knew she'd never choose to do things over, especially since she had her son, it just wasn't fair.

The jukebox switched up and a familiar song began to play, one that froze August in his spot. How Soon Is Now's opening lyrics swarmed through the speakers and brought him back to the foster home he was placed in after he and the other young boys were caught on the run.

**I am the son**

**And the heir**

**Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar**

**I am the son and heir**

**Of nothing in particular**

The song played on the radio as the football August was throwing smashed into the vase.

"Booth!" His foster father screamed. "What have I told you about throwing that damn thing in the house?"

"I…I'm sorry," he stammered out. "It's raining and I was bored…"

"You're going to be sorry."

The man ripped off his belt and it collided with August's face, not once, not twice but three times in quick succession.

August slammed his hands over his ears, finding it hard to breathe.

"Stop!" He cried out.

"I'll stop when I'm damn good and ready, boy! Now pull down your pants!"

At the counter, one of the waitresses slammed down a drink for a customer, a little too loudly and it caused tears to fall down August's face. He could practically feel himself being pushed up against the wall.

The song was suddenly cut off and changed to something different, but August was already far away, his mind spinning. He felt a hand go on his shoulder and jerked away, about to fight back whoever it was, until he saw those familiar green eyes.

"Breathe, August," Emma instructed. "Just breathe."

She demonstrated on her own and it took a minute, but soon he was following. Eventually, he was brought back to where he was. He wasn't in that terrible foster home in New York, he was in Storybrooke, Maine. Granny's Diner. In front of him wasn't Cecil Morgan, but Emma Swan, his best friend.

"I…I have to go," he mumbled.

Tossing down some money for his coffee, he stormed out the door with Emma following close behind. He leaned up against the building, still trying to remember how to breathe.

"It's okay," Emma assured him. "I have panic attacks a lot."

"I thought they were over," he mumbled. "I control my triggers, I didn't even know the Smiths were on that damn jukebox."

"Storybrooke is still stuck in the 80s in some ways," she said with a frown. "Bad foster home?"

"The dad was a huge fan, blasted it all the time. Especially to cover up our screams."

"For me it's AC/DC. My old foster mom's favorite band, especially when she was getting drunk."

He ran his hand over his face. "For a year, it didn't bother me…"

"Because you didn't have your memories."

"I thought I was happy to be back to my old self, scars and all…"

"Except it meant your PTSD coming back."

Not too many people knew about August's PTSD. He had been diagnosed at 19, after a breakdown on a trip to London, England. Emma only knew because he had one breakdown in front of her during the curse and she opened up to him, saying she had been diagnosed during her stint in prison. It was their own little secret, though now her parents and Archie knew about hers.

"I wish it could all just go away, I don't want to remember those things. I want the happy times, the traveling…"

"You have to take the good with the bad." She paused for a moment. "Have you…have you talked to your father or Archie about this?"

"No. Papa's going through a hard enough time with me changing back. The last thing he needs is to know that his son is broken."

"You're not broken, Auggie." Emma put a hand on his shoulder. "Just…a bit chipped."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "I think you've been spending a little too much time with Belle."

"Maybe. Just think about it, okay?"

"Okay."

August reflected on what Emma said and knew that he needed to get back into therapy, so he did open up to Archie. It was good to get back to talking to someone about it, to get back on his medication for it. His panic attacks were lessening and Emma talked with Granny to remove the Smiths from the jukebox at the diner.

Things were good…until Marco found his medication.

He was coming home from another date with Tink, when he found his father sitting at the table. With Sidney gone, August had taken over the Storybrooke Chronicle and they had been able to move into a nicer house. Archie lived with them as well and chipped in on the rent, so it was far nicer than anywhere any of them had lived.

"Hey Papa," he said, throwing his jacket up on the hook. "What's going on?" Marco simply held up the orange prescription bottle, causing August to freeze in his place. "Where did you find that?"

"Your bathroom, I was out of toothpaste so I was going to borrow yours." He rose to his feet, walking closer to him. "I had Blue help me use the computer, apparently this is medication for PTSD."

"It is." August took the bottle and stuck it into his pocket.

"Since when do you have that?"

"I got diagnosed when I was 19. I never had a chance to tell you, because well…when we reconnected, I got turned back into a boy."

"I don't understand. I looked into this condition and it's for people who have been through severe trauma." He raised an eyebrow. "What trauma could you have gone through?"

The comment alone made August's blood boil. He knew his father meant well, but sometimes…he could be a bit daft. Snow and David hated to admit it, but they at least acknowledged that their daughter had been through terrible things throughout their childhood. David's whole reason for wanting to go back to the Enchanted Forest had been because of how cruel the world had been to her. Marco knew all of what Emma had been through…could he really not connect the dots and realize so had his son?

"Maybe because when I was 7 years old, you put me in a wardrobe and sent me off to protect a baby," August whispered. His voice isn't laced with anger, just honesty.

Marco paused. "But…it was for your own good. I didn't know what the curse would do to you."

"I was 7!" He exploded. "7 years old! Do you know what it was like? To show up in some strange land, with a crying newborn? I had no clue what to do, where to go! Finally, we were found but trust me, foster care is no picnic. I ran away, only to be caught and brought to even worse homes throughout my entire life!"

He rolled up his shirt to reveal a scar that hung above his belly button. Marco's eyes widened in shock.

"This was from when I got beat with a rusty hanger," he said. "It ended up getting infected and I got sick, really sick. I was in the hospital for 2 weeks and when I got out, I was put in a new foster home that wasn't much better. Finally, I got away for good when I was 15, but the damage was already done. I have PTSD, Papa, because my entire childhood was a mess."

Tears filled Marco's eyes. "But you…you got a second chance…"

"I did. And it was amazing." He reflected on the year he had as a child. "I got to be a kid, go to school, have fun. But as soon as I got turned back into a man, all of those old memories hit me like a brick. It didn't replace the childhood I already had."

A single tear fell down Marco's face. "I thought I was doing what was best for you."

"How was it best for me, to send me to a strange land, alone and taking care of an infant? You knew Snow wasn't going through, you knew I'd be alone!" August's voice broke. "You thought about yourself, you didn't really think about me!"

"That's not true! I wanted you to be safe! How was I supposed to know…" He shook his head. "This hasn't been easy for me either. I got you back, my sweet boy, only to…to lose you again!"

"You didn't lose me, Papa! I'm right here! I know I'm not that little boy that you stuffed into the wardrobe, but I'm still your son!"

There was a silence between the two men as tears fell down their face and they breathed heavily. August looked deep into his father's eyes, seeing his own pain for the first time. He couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a child in the way he had, yet he still had him. If Emma could be good enough for Snow and David, even as an adult, couldn't he be enough for his father?

"I'm still mourning the little boy I lost," Marco said, finally. "I'm sorry, August. I love you. You're right, you are my son. I just…I need some time to get over the fact that my little boy isn't coming back."

_So, I'm not your little boy anymore? I'm sorry I grew up! I'm sorry I wasn't cursed like you were. I'm sorry…_

They were all words at the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to apologize anymore, not for things that weren't his fault. Therapy had taught him that much.

"I guess I'll go stay with Tink for a while then." He grabbed his keys off the rack and pulled his jacket back on. "Don't worry, I'll still pay the rent on this place."

Heading out the door and slamming it behind him, he stormed to his motorcycle and sat on it for a while. He waited 5 minutes for Marco to chase out after him, but it never happened. He let out a shaky breath as he turned the keys in the ignition and headed off, his father's words still radiating in his brain.

"My little boy isn't coming back."

_I'm right here._

But maybe…he wasn't anyone's little boy anymore. Maybe there's a chance that he never was.


End file.
